'Course we have, course we have,' returned the other, with a nod. But he was absorbed in his own reflections, and gave only half an ear to the gasping vehemences which Mr. Daffy poured forth for the next ten minutes. There followed a short silence, then the strong man shook himself and opened his lips. 'Do you know _my_ idea?' he blurted out. 'What's that, Mr. Lott?' 'If I were you I wouldn't go to see Bowles. Better for me to do that. We've only gossip to go upon, and we know what that often amounts to. Leave Bowles to me, and go and see your son.' 'But I don't even know where he's living.' 'You don't? That's awkward. Well then, come along with me to Bowles's place of business; as likely as not, if we find him, he'll be able to give you your son's address. What do you say to my idea, Mr. Daffy?' The tailor assented to this arrangement, on condition that, if things were found to be as he had heard, he should be left free to obey his conscience. The stopping of the train at an intermediate station, where new passengers entered, put an end to the confidential talk. Mr. Daffy, breathing hard, struggled with his painful thoughts; the timber-merchant, deeply meditative, let his eyes wander about the carriage. As they drew near to the London terminus, Mr. Lott bent forward to his friend. 'I want to buy a present for my eldest nephew,' he remarked, 'but I can't for the life of me think what it had better be.' 'Perhaps you'll see something in a shop-window,' suggested Mr. Daffy. 'Maybe I shall.' They alighted at Liverpool Street. Mr. Lott hailed a hansom, and they were driven to a street in Southwark, where, at the entrance of a building divided into offices, one perceived the name of Bowles and Perkins. This firm was on the fifth floor, and Mr. Daffy eyed the staircase with misgiving. 'No need for you to go up,' said his companion. 'Wait here, and I'll see if I can get the address.' Mr. Lott was absent for only a few minutes. He came down again with his lips hard set, knocking each step sharply with his walking-stick. 'I've got it,' he said, and named a southern suburb. 'Have you seen Mr. Bowles?' 'No; he's out of town,' was the reply. 'Saw his partner.' They walked side by side for a short way, then Mr. Lott stopped. 'Do you know _my_ idea? It's a little after eleven. I'm going to see my daughter, and I dare say I shall catch the 3.49 home from Liverpool Street. Suppose we take our chance of meeting there?'